Intoxicated
by Scrawlers
Summary: Game-verse, pre-second generation. Morty, Eusine, and Falkner go out for a night on the town in Saffron City. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned. Rated for sexual content.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the fic itself.**

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><p><strong>Intoxicated<strong>

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><p>During the day, Saffron City is a bustling metropolis that's filled with more activity than a caffeinated beehive. It's hard to get by on the streets without bumping into someone else and the skyscrapers obscure the sun, making it difficult to mark the passage of time without a clock. At night it's much the same, with people still jostling by on the sidewalks, but this time instead of wearing business suits and casual wear the people deck themselves out in their finest, with girls showing as much skin as possible and boys making sure to strut. The night air seems choked with perfume both expensive and cheap and cigarette smoke mingling with exhaust, and if the neon lights from clubs and bars in the shadier districts of Saffron weren't enough to give someone a hint, Saffron's wildest were fond of coming out at night and flexing their claws, ready to play.<p>

Of course, to those that live in Saffron, this isn't a problem. They know the ins-and-outs of the city better than anyone, and they know what looks are dangerous and which are inviting, and which are an explosive mixture of both. But to a trio of fifteen-year-old boys wandering down the street at night, looking for an interesting club or bar to duck into, Saffron is an untapped treasure chest of wonders both intoxicating and lethal; intoxicating to the brunette in the flashy, colorful clothes, lethal to the dark blond in the scarf, and a mixture of both to the black-haired boy in traditional wear.

"This is pointless," Morty says, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks between his friends. His eyes continuously dart around, taking in the leering stares from women wearing far too little clothing and the boorish shouts of drunk men around them. "The Gym Leader Certification exam is in one week, and that's held at the Indigo Plateau. We should have gone to Cerulean City, not lingered here."

"Will you relax?" Eusine asks, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion that makes Morty want to punch him. "We have plenty of time to get to Indigo. I bet if we left early in the morning we could make it all the way to Pewter City by nightfall, no problem. And from Pewter it's an easy jump over to Victory Road and the Plateau."

"We won't leave early in the morning," Morty points out, "because _you _won't get out of bed. Not only that, but there is no way that we would ever make it to Pewter City by nightfall. In case you don't remember, there is a mountain that we'd have to cross in-between Cerulean and Pewter. The odds of us even making it halfway through Mt. Moon before nightfall are slim, much less making it all the way to Pewter."

"You are _such _a pessimist, Morty."

"No, I'm a realist, Eusine."

"Pessimist."

"Realist."

"I'm not seeing a difference."

"There's a rather large difference. Use a dictionary."

"I don't need to use a dictionary when I already know you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Are too."

"Are _not_."

"If you two are quite finished," Falkner interrupts, his words those of one who is politely interrupting but his tone sounding like someone who'd like to snap both Morty's and Eusine's necks, "then I'd like to say that while Eusine is right in saying that Morty shouldn't stress-"

"Ha!" Eusine interrupts, but Falkner continues as if he hadn't heard him.

"-Morty is right in saying that we'd never make it to Pewter City before nightfall even if we did leave at daybreak and didn't stop for lunch or rest. Convince him to loosen up all you want, Eusine, but don't fabricate obviously fake lies to do it."

Eusine glowers at Falkner and then turns away, sulking, but Morty instead turns to look at Falkner, frowning.

"I need to loosen up?" he asks, and then scoffs lightly. "You're not really one to talk, Falkner. Since when are _you_ an advocate of going out and drinking, anyway?"

Falkner shrugs, but he looks away, refusing to meet Morty's eyes. "I feel like a change of pace," he says loftily, and then quickly adds, "Besides, this isn't _too_ out of character for me. I _do_ have fun. It's not completely unheard of."

"I think I know what inspired this change of pace," Eusine says slyly, and Morty looks over at him to see that his pout is completely gone, replaced instead by a steadily growing grin. "And I think that it has something to do with a certain spunky ninja girl saying that Falkner's so tightly wound that he could run for longer than any grandfather clock, that he never has any fun and that if he keeps scowling like that his face is going to be stuck that way, if it isn't already-"

"And _I _think," Falkner interrupts loudly, so loudly that several people nearby turn to look, and laugh when Morty quickly looks away from them, trying to pretend that they've melted into the concrete around them and that their leers are hidden by the neon lights, "that we ought to go inside and forget that this conversation ever happened."

"Inside?" Morty asks, raising an eyebrow. "Inside where?" His curiosity fades into discontent as Falkner points at a bar a few paces ahead of them, one of the neon letters completely burnt out and a few others blinking unsteadily, much like a few of the patrons stumbling through the door.

"There. We've been wandering for an hour without picking a spot. Now it's time to pick one and stick to it."

The longer Morty looks at the bar, the more he dislikes it. Looking through the Spinarak-webbed window he can see damaged tables and a Rattata skittering around the baseboards by the bar, and glasses that have so much grime caked on them it's a wonder the patrons can even see the alcohol poured into them. The inhabitants of the bar don't look much better; the barkeep has grizzly hair and looks as if he might have missed a few recent showers while the patrons range from old and withered to middle-aged and decidedly creepy, with arms like mutated tree trunks and necks like tapioca pudding left out overnight. He's sure that some of his dislike shows in his face, because Falkner gives him a challenging scowl and Eusine rolls his eyes again.

"I don't think Morty's going to want to go in there," he says, as if Morty's contempt of the dingy bar (known as the "Moon Stone," apparently, though one of the o's is the letter that's unlit, leaving it as the "Mon Stone") is putting him at a large inconvenience. "I don't think it would pass the white glove test."

"I don't do the white glove test, Eusine," Morty snaps before he can help himself. This is an argument they've had a thousand times before, but for some reason, the cloying air of Saffron City makes it all the more irritating. "Wanting things to be fit for human habitation is not doing the white glove test."

"Whatever," Eusine says, brushing Morty off. "The point is, you don't want to go in there, do you?"

"Life's about taking risks, Morty," Falkner says before Morty even has a chance to respond. Falkner has his arms folded in what's clearly a challenging stance, and if he'd had his practice sword at his belt, Morty was positive that one of his hands would be resting upon his hilt, as if he was ready to fight at any second. "Truth be told, that bar doesn't look too amazing to my tastes, either. But as I said, we've wandered the streets for an hour without finding anywhere to go, and if we're going to be taking risks tonight anyway, then we might as well take a risk here."

Morty doesn't answer immediately, and instead looks inside the window again, his eyes roving over each individual person. Truth be told, the only ones that really bother him are the ones that are seated in the back, near the karaoke machine. There are four of them, each of them wearing beat-up coats of various muted colors despite the warm early autumn air, and each of them looking to be in at least their mid-thirties. One of them has dark hair that looks greasy despite its short length, matching the beginnings of a beard that cling to his bony cheeks, and this is the one that keeps going back up to the bar, talking to the barkeep as if they're old friends and sliding more drinks down to his buddies. He has eyes like a Staraptor and the lope of a Persian; every move is made with a sort of predatory confidence that makes Morty's skin crawl.

"Well?" Eusine presses, breaking Morty out of his reverie. "What's it going to be?" Morty looks to both of his friends, meeting Eusine's impatient gaze and Falkner's challenging one, and sighs.

"Fine," he relents, "but I don't want to stay long. They might not even serve us, anyway. We _are _only fifteen."

"And _this _is Kanto," Eusine says, grabbing Morty's arm and dragging him to the door. Morty pulls his arm from Eusine's grip, but this doesn't seem to dampen Eusine's mood; he practically has a skip in his step as he follows Falkner into the bar. This makes Morty want to roll his eyes, especially since he has a feeling that Eusine won't like beer once he tries it for the first time. "True, the drinking age is eighteen in Johto, but it's sixteen in most of Kanto, and fifteen in Saffron. We're legal."

"Besides," Falkner adds in an undertone from just in front of Morty. There's anticipation in his eyes as well, and Morty can't help but sigh. "Something tells me that in an establishment like this, they aren't going to really bother with checking identification."

"Right," Morty says dryly, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. He doesn't think that Eusine and Falkner have noticed, but the guys from the back have been staring at them since the moment they walked in, and the man with the predatory saunter in particular seems to have pinned Morty to the floor with the force of his stare. "I'm going to go get a table."

"What do you want?" Eusine asks before Morty can slip away. "To drink, I mean." Morty gives Eusine a flat look.

"Really? I thought you were asking me what I wanted to play on the karaoke machine over there."

"Har har, very funny," Eusine remarks, rolling his eyes. Morty decides that if Eusine ever rolls his eyes again, he's going to gouge them right out of Eusine's head. "C'mon, don't be stupid. What do you want?"

"I don't know," Morty confesses, shrugging. "I don't care. Whatever you're having is fine. Or, better yet," he adds, noticing how Eusine has turned back to the bar with all the excitement of a kid told that he could have his pick of any toys in the store, "let Falkner decide, and come back with me to the table."

"What? Why?" Eusine demands, his voice loud and easily carrying over some of the quieter conversations in the bar. Morty groans. "He's going to pick something completely boring and you know it."

"No, I won't," Falkner says, apparently offended by the turn the conversation has taken. Eusine turns to face him with the same unafraid stare that he always wears for everything else, looking both confident and stupid at the same time.

"Yes, you will," he insists. "Janine was right, you're completely straight-laced, and you're going to pick the most boring drink they offer here-"

"First of all," Falkner interrupts loudly, and Morty massages the bridge of his nose with two fingers, feeling a headache coming on. "Janine is an annoying, irritating, scatterbrained, dimwitted, obnoxious, spoiled little brat who doesn't know what she's talking about. Second of all, I would be willing to bet money on the fact that you couldn't even name three alcoholic drinks, whereas I know several. And _lastly_-"

"Hey," the barkeep interrupts, leaning over the countertop and pointing one round finger at them. "I don't want no fighting in my place. You wanna fight, you take that bullshit outside."

"Don't worry," Morty says, putting himself in-between Falkner and Eusine and addressing the barkeep directly. "We won't fight, we promise. Can we just have three beers delivered to that back table?" he points to the table he means, one along the back wall that's mostly out of everyone else's view, and the barkeep studies him for a minute before phrasing his question slowly and deliberately.

"I heard you right, didn't I, when you were comin' in? You said you was fifteen?"

"Yes," Morty affirms, nodding once. "We all have our Trainer Cards if you need to see them." The barkeep grunts, turning back to the rest of the bar.

"No need. Go take a seat. I'll have Beth-Ann bring your drinks over in a mo'."

"Beth-Ann?" Eusine asks, as easily distracted as ever as Morty ushers his friends over to the table. "I didn't see a girl when we walked in . . . wonder what she looks like."

"Whatever she looks like, she'll be out of your league," Falkner says, dropping into his seat and throwing Eusine a smirk. "She could have lips like a Magikarp and she'd be far better than you'd ever deserve."

"Says the one who spends his time being bested by a little girl," Eusine fires back, and the smirk drops off Falkner's face faster than a Pidgey hit by a Thunder attack. His eyes suddenly sharpen into a glare worthy of a Fearow, but before he can say anything, Morty interrupts.

"Whoever she is, she's on her way over now," he says, "and I'm not of the opinion that she looks like a Magikarp."

Falkner and Eusine look up, watching as a large-chested woman with curly blonde hair and deep red lips saunters over, two mugs held in one hand, and a third mug in the other. She sets them down upon the table with a saucy smile and slides one mug over to each of the boys, her eyes lingering on both Falkner and Morty longer than is strictly necessary.

"You boys have fun," she says, turning as she speaks to walk back over toward the bar, her hips swinging with every step. Eusine watches her progress, his eyebrows raised, a slow smile forming over his lips, but before he can say anything, Falkner speaks up matter-of-factly.

"She is _way _out of your league."

"And the only girls _you _can score are the little ones," Eusine counters, his smile gone and replaced by a scowl almost worthy of the one that darkens Falkner's expression.

"That's disgusting. Janine is only nine-years-old. I have no interest in _children_."

"Will you both just shut up and drink?" Morty interrupts, sighing as he picks up his mug. Even as he examines the amber liquid, he decides that he doesn't want it. He's never been a big fan of alcohol, even though his father used to have him drink sake whenever there was a special occasion. It always burns his throat and makes his tastebuds recoil, and he'd much rather have a nice cup of dark coffee or tea than the beer that's currently sitting in the stained mug before him. "Chances are Falkner will never see Janine again, anyway, so it's a moot point."

"Thank you, Morty," Falkner says as Eusine opens his mouth to argue. Morty gives Eusine a firm look, gripping his mug a little harder than strictly necessary.

"Moot. Point."

"Fine," Eusine acquiesces, picking up his mug with a shrug. "It's a moot point. Happy now?"

"No," Morty mutters, and ignores whatever else Eusine says as he tips the beer back into his mouth. Like he expected, it tastes awful, like he just poured a large amount of gasoline down his throat. He forces himself to take a hearty gulp anyway, and when he lowers the mug back onto the table, he sees that Eusine is currently chugging his own while Falkner watches on with an expression mingled awe and disgust.

"It isn't a crime to pace yourself, you know," Falkner says as Eusine slams the glass back down onto the table, his cheeks a bit redder and his eyes a bit brighter. Falkner takes a sip of his own beer, and Morty notices that his nose crinkles a bit at the taste as he grimaces. _I guess I'm not the only one that doesn't like it._

"Pacing would be the _proper_ thing to do," Eusine says tauntingly. "The _boring_ and _straight-laced _thing to do . . ."

Falkner's expression darkens just as Morty knew it would the second Eusine started echoing Janine's words. They'd only run into her briefly earlier in the day, as she'd been in Saffron City with her father Koga (who'd stopped to talk to Falkner, given that Falkner was the son of one of Koga's associates and the current standing Gym Leader of Violet City), but she'd wasted no time in taunting Falkner about how boring and uptight he looked. Koga hadn't bothered to scold her, and so she'd gone on to say about how she was sure he never smiled and how she thought his hair looked stupid. By the end of it, Eusine had been in stitches and Falkner was suitably ticked off, so it's really no wonder that he immediately tosses back a much larger quantity of the beer than is strictly necessary.

"_There_ you go," Eusine says smugly as Falkner lowers his glass, glowering at Eusine with an expression that says he's clearly daring Eusine to say it's not enough. "Come _on_, guys. If we're going to do this, we should really do it. Don't wuss out."

"No one's wussing out of anything," Falkner snaps, and Morty only sighs. Of all the things he could think of that he would want to do on a Thursday night, this is definitely not one of them, despite the fact that he's with his two best friends. "Morty, why aren't you drinking more of yours?"

Morty shrugs half-heartedly, but when Falkner and Eusine both give him pointed looks, he rolls his eyes and takes another swig. This almost drains his glass, but despite that, he still feels thirsty. _Doesn't surprise me,_ he thinks grimly. _Alcohol does dehydrate you._

It's for this reason that he orders a glass of water along with the next round of beers that Eusine hails over, and drinks it along with his beer as Falkner and Eusine start a short-lived drinking contest. Short-lived, because after his third beer Eusine rediscovers the karaoke machine on the other side of the bar, and his eyes light up like holiday lights powered by a thousand hyperactive Pikachu. He's up and out of his chair before Morty or Falkner can grab him, and he bolts across the bar as if he's just seen Suicune with a "For Eusine" ribbon tied around its neck. Morty sighs as Eusine eagerly begins setting up the karaoke machine, and Falkner shakes his head.

"He's going to get us thrown out of here."

"Probably," Morty mutters, taking another drink of his beer. This is his third, and he finds that as the alcohol begins to take effect, he's not noticing the taste very much anymore. He's definitely not as drunk as Eusine, who may not even remember messing around with the karaoke machine the next morning, but he's feeling decidedly less annoyed with Eusine at present and feels like the bar really isn't _that_ bad of a place after all. "Or he'll just get _himself _thrown out of here."

Falkner laughs, his laugh a bit louder than his ordinary quiet chuckle. "Perhaps," he agrees. "But would you really allow Eusine to be thrown out all by himself? Who knows what he could get himself into during that time, _especially _if he's drunk."

Morty scoffs, and for a second he toys with the idea of saying that he would gladly let Eusine be thrown out, alone with no one to turn to. But the next second he looks up and sees that Eusine apparently can't work the karaoke machine in his inebriated state, and he sighs, shaking his head with a wry smile.

"No, I wouldn't."

"That's what I thought," Falkner says, but anything else he might have said is drowned out by the fact that Eusine has finally gotten the karaoke machine to work. Music starts blaring out of it at an extremely high volume, with Eusine clumsily belting out off-key lyrics to the song that's playing. He isn't getting the lyrics right at all, which makes it even worse, and Morty barely restrains covering his ears to try and block out what sounds like a Meowth with throat cancer yowling from its place in a river.

"I can't believe he actually got it to work," Falkner says, sounding as though the sound of Eusine's singing offends him. Given the screeching currently emitting from the microphone, Morty bets that it probably does. "Wait here," Falkner adds. "I'll go get him."

Morty lets Falkner go, partially because he knows that - as a standing Gym Leader - Falkner would have more sway with the barkeep if the barkeep did get involved, and partially because he doesn't want to go near Eusine's yowling himself. As Morty watches Falkner's progress toward the karaoke machine, he sees Falkner hold up in one hand and say something to Beth-Ann (though he can't see what it is), and he sees that the man with the Staraptor gaze is staring at him, the same predatory leer as before on his face. This makes Morty feel uncomfortable, and he looks back down at the table, taking another swig of his drink as if he didn't notice. Better to just pretend as if the man isn't even there while Falkner sorts out Eusine and drags him back. _If he_ can _drag him back,_ Morty corrects himself mentally. _When Eusine's sober he's as stubborn as a Primeape on a rampage. There's no telling what he's going to be like drunk._

"Sugar?" Morty looks up to see Beth-Ann at his table again, a fresh drink in her hand. She sets it down in front of him, and he frowns, as he hasn't quite finished his other drink and he's positive he didn't order another. She seems to notice his confusion, because she adds, "Oh, it's from your friend over there. He seemed to think you could use a pick-me-up with all that's going on."

Morty glances over to where she gestured, and sees that Falkner is still struggling to get Eusine to give up the karaoke machine. Far from being deterred, Eusine slings one arm around Falkner's neck and drags him over to the mic, seeming intent on making it a duet. Morty shakes his head, and smiles politely at Beth-Ann, figuring that Falkner must have sent it over either as a plea for Morty to come help, or as a peace offering for Morty having to suffer through Eusine's singing in the first place.

"Thank you."

Beth-Ann smiles, and then moves back toward the bar, though Morty sees her send a disgruntled look Eusine's way as she does so. Though he's already feeling the alcohol from his first three drinks by this point, Morty takes a swig of the drink Falkner got him, barely even tasting it as he tosses it down his throat. After all, it'd be rude not to drink it if Falkner got it for him, especially since Falkner is the one currently dealing with Eusine.

It isn't until a few minutes after he's consumed most of the drink that it hits Morty that it was a _really _bad idea to do so. Nausea rolls through him like Snorlax using Rollout, and he suddenly feels much too hot in his sweater and scarf. He tugs the scarf off, leaving it on the table, but he still feels hot and sick. To make matters worse, he finds it hard to concentrate; despite the fact that Eusine is still singing, Falkner reluctantly singing along (or so it seems, Morty can't really tell), Morty's having trouble really hearing his voice and making out the words, and when he looks up, he finds that his vision is blurry and distorted. After a few minutes of sitting down in misery, Morty pushes himself shakily to his feet, deciding that it might be best to just go to the bathroom and make himself throw up the alcohol. He isn't fond of throwing up, but if he feels nauseous and the alcohol's the cause, then that really might be the best case. As he staggers toward the small hallway where he knows the bathroom is located, he motions to Falkner that it's where he'll be, and it's only when he sees Falkner nod in understanding that he continues, reaching out one hand to use the wall as support as he moves. Clumsily, he reaches for one of the brass door handles and shoves it open, but it isn't until he stumbles through it and the evening air smacks him in the faces that he realizes that he got the wrong one.

It doesn't matter, though. The early autumn air feels good on his warmed cheeks and he stumbles out, half-falling against one of the walls. It occurs to him then that this isn't right; he wasn't that drunk before consuming the drink Falkner got him, and even if he had been, the way his vision is so distorted that everything's a mess of blurry shapes and the fact that he's almost lost all coordination sends warning bells off in his mind. Warning bells for what, he doesn't know; all Morty knows is that this feels wrong, that something's not right, and that the next thing he knows as his world starts spinning horribly is that someone has their hands bracing his shoulders and holding him upright.

"Careful," says the voice of the person who's holding him, and although they're holding him from behind and he can't see them, Morty can tell by the voice that it's not Falkner or Eusine. "You almost fell over, there."

"You were right," says someone else, and out of the corner of his eye Morty sees another large, blurry shape. Both voices are male, and Morty struggles to stand upright on his own so that he can at least attempt to get a better look at them, but the hands on his shoulders hold him firm. "He _is _a pretty one, ain't he?"

"Very pretty," agrees the one holding him, and one hand lifts to comb through Morty's hair. Morty grimaces and tries to pull away, earning laughter that seems to come from several spots around the alley at once. "Look at this hair. No way this is natural. This natural, kid?"

Morty slurs out a response that he hopes is the affirmative he was aiming for, and then tries a bit harder to make his next words articulate. "Lemme go." This earns more laughter, and another blurry shape moves into Morty's line of vision. Despite the fact that he feels like he's on a haunted merry-go-round that's trying to spin fast and hard enough to throw him off and make him crack his head open, Morty recognizes the graceful, Persian-like lope, and it saps the warmth out of him so fast that he feels like he just stepped into the Lavender Tower.

"Oh, no," says the predatory blurry shape. "We wouldn't want to do that. If we did that, then you'd fall and crack that pretty li'l face of yours. We wouldn't want that, would we? No, not at all. Here, lemme see him." The man holding Morty releases him, but before Morty can even consider either passing flat out onto the concrete or making a break for it, the predator grabs him from the front, spinning him around and slamming his back against the dusty brick of the wall, and crushing his lips forcefully against Morty's.

Morty's mouth had already tasted like alcohol from his own drinks, but the predator practically reeks of it, the smell and taste of alcohol seeming to permeate from every pore of his body. Morty's hands grasp at the man's chest, trying to push him away, but in response the man only kisses him harder, one hand moving up to tangle in Morty's hair, the other sliding beneath his shirt and raking grimy nails down his chest. Morty thinks that aside from the moan the man makes into his mouth he hears some kind of weird sound in the distance, but he can't decide if it's really in the distance, or if it's just the whimpers of denial coming from his own mouth.

The man finally pulls away, but his forehead knocks against Morty's, knocking Morty's head back against the wall. It hurts, but only in a very distant away, and all Morty can concentrate on is the fact that it's hard to breathe and concentrate and he feels like a million bodies are pressing in on him at once. He hears the man say something else, but it's very hard to make out, and suddenly the entire world tilts as he's thrown sideways. He thinks that someone else catches him, or that they _must_ have, because instead of landing on the concrete he falls on something soft. He struggles, fumbling to both get away and to grab one of the Pokèballs at his waist, but hands - at least two, possibly more - grope all around his waist, removing his belt and taking his Pokèmon with it, and unbuttoning his pants. Morty opens his mouth to tell them no, to tell them to stop, but he can't; the second he opens his mouth more lips are on his, and by this point his world is sliding so far out of focus that he can't even tell who it is. All he knows is that there _has _to be more than just two sets of hands on him by this point, he feels sick, he thinks that he might end up dying from all of this, and there's a very strange sound filling the alleyway. It's not just the sound of the scuffle, the rustle of clothing, or the various grunts and moans from the blurred male shapes around him; it's a sort of low, rumbling sound that seems to be coming from the concrete itself. Morty doesn't know what it is, and he doesn't even know if he cares; all he knows is that one moment he's being held and groped and kissed by several different pairs of hands and lips, and the next he's tumbling back down to the concrete.

And he can't even begin to remember how to stand up again.

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><p>Karen has seen quite a few things in her sixteen years. Despite the fact that she grew up in the boring hamlet of Lavender Town, and despite the fact that her parents were advocates of purity and light in every form, Karen has made it a point to make her way through the grimiest cities and the dirtiest alleys, has done her damnedest to taunt trouble and give it a taut middle finger, and has made it her life's mission to face Hell with a bared-tooth grin and inviting leer. Even so, the last thing she ever expected to see was four men surrounding a kid around her age with dirty blond hair, especially when - after having a better look down the alley - she recognizes the kid as a friend of hers.<p>

It takes barely a second for her to make her decision, and she strides down the alley with her shoulders thrown back and her chin raised high, a Pokèball already held between two longer fingers. Another half second passes before she presses the button on the front of the Pokèball twice, releasing her Houndoom into the alley. Lilith doesn't even need to take stock of the situation; she's snarling as soon as the scent of sweat and perverse desire hits her snout, the sound ripping through the alley with all of the intensity of hellfire. The men are far too busy to notice at first, for one of the men is holding Morty's body crushed tightly against his torso while another kisses him roughly from the front, hands traveling down Morty's waistline in an attempt to completely relieve him of his pants, but the one holding Morty's belt off to the side looks up at the sound of Lilith's snarling, and his surprise is so great that he drops the belt completely, the Pokèballs smacking loudly on the ground.

_This _is what grabs the attention of the other men, and when they look up and see the snarling Houndoom bearing slowly down on them they drop Morty, allowing him to fall carelessly to the ground. He moans, curling in on himself with his eyes tightly shut, sweat visible on his pale face even in the dark light of the alley. Karen allows herself one brief thought that he's going to feel absolutely terrible in the morning before she turns her attention to the men, who can't seem to decide whether they feel more desire for her or more fear for Lilith.

"You're a pretty li'l thing," says one of the men, stepping forward. Karen raises one eyebrow. This sort of behavior is nothing new, but that doesn't mean that it surprises her any less whenever it happens. After all, she can't say that she finds herself to be particularly vulnerable-looking, especially when she has her Houndoom ready to tear out throats.

"Lots of men have told me that in the past," she says mildly, folding one arm under her breasts and resting the elbow of her opposite arm in her palm, tapping her long fingers against her cheek. "I can't say it ever ends very well for them."

"Well for _them_?" the man asks, and something about the bravado in his voice causes the other men to laugh. Karen smirks. _It's adorable how they think they have control in this situation._ "Honey, don't be like that. Come join us. You and our other pretty little friend will have a _great _time." He saunters over to her, but before he can take more than three steps Lilith moves, pouncing in front of Karen and pressing her ears flat against her head. This wipes the leer from the man's face, and Karen's smirk widens.

"Lilith doesn't take kindly to people threatening me," she says, her tone as casual as ever. "In fact, she often likes to tear their ribs straight out of their warm bodies. She considers it to be a rather delectable treat." Karen turns her attention to Lilith, making her smile a little more sugary sweet as she coos, "Isn't that right, Lilith?"

Lilith snarls louder in response, swishing her tail back and forth. Karen's grin widens, and she turns her attention back to the men, all of whom have paled.

"The ribs are especially delicious when said creeps have been attempting to molest a friend of ours." She nods her head toward Morty, who is visibly trembling on the ground, but isn't moving. "Tell me, did you drug dear Mortimer before you dragged him out here, attempting to rob him of his virtue in this alley?" Karen tsks, shaking her head. "That really wasn't a very wise move on your part. After all, I _really _don't appreciate it, and I'm fairly certain Lilith doesn't, either."

"Look, I don't know what you're talkin' about, lady," one of the men speaks up from the back. It's the one who was holding Morty's belt before, and he's taking steps back, raising his hands in a pathetic form of defense. Lilith follows his every move, her eyes boring straight into him, every fur on her body sticking straight up. "Just call that thing off, aight? We don't wanna deal with it."

"Yeah," says another, the one who was standing by the one with the belt before. The one standing before Karen and the who'd previously been holding Morty don't move, but the retreating actions of the other two are enough to make Lilith take another step forward. "'Sides, isn't it illegal to bring Pokèmon out like this when we ain't battling?"

"No more illegal than rape, I would suppose," Karen responds dryly. Her eyes flicker to the two who haven't made any attempt to escape, and she raises both eyebrows. "I would start running," she says. "Give yourselves a head start. You'll thank me for it when Lilith doesn't start ripping the flesh off your bones until five minutes after you've attempted to escape."

This finally inspires the two men who'd already started retreating to run, sprinting toward the opposite end of the alley like two rabbits who'd just been spotted by a fox. The one who'd been holding Morty casts one more doubtful look in the direction of the leering one before he, too, runs, and it only takes one harsh bark from Lilith before the leering man finally gives up and steals away as well, pelting for the opposite end of the alley. Barking twice more, Lilith starts after, her claws scraping on the concrete as she leaps gracefully over Morty's prone body and chases the men around the corner, snapping at their heels.

It's only until they've rounded the corner that Karen moves, swinging her bag to the crook of her arm so that she can open it. The first thing she does is scoop up Morty's belt, putting his Pokèmon safely into her bag. The second thing she does is move over to Morty, who doesn't move even when she's kneeling right next to him. It's only when she moves to zip up and button his pants that he reacts, jolting like he's just been electrocuted, his hands flying to attempt to knock hers away, a slurred moan of denial coming from between his lips.

"Shh," she says, and she hopes her voice is soothing, though she's never been the best at comfort. She dodges his clumsy attempts to knock his hands away and zips up his pants, fastening the button before she takes both of his hands in her own, squeezing them gently. "Calm down, Mortimer. They're gone, now. It's just me."

"Jus' . . . who?" His eyes open, blinking at her blearily, but his eyes are glazed and unseeing. Karen isn't surprised by this, and so she merely props herself up onto the balls of her feet, grabbing his arm and attempting to haul him up.

"Who else? Your knight in shining armor," she quips, grunting a little as she tries to pull him to his feet. Morty slumps onto her shoulders like dead weight, and though she normally finds excitement in the Lavender Tower and delight in the idea of death, she wishes that her friend would have a little more spring in his step, at least until she could get him to a cab. "Now, come on. We need to hail a cab, because I will be damned if I'm going to carry you all the way back to my hotel." She pauses, and then adds wryly, "Well, I'm likely damned regardless, but you know what I mean."

Morty offers her no coherent response. Instead, he just groans something, and she thinks that maybe it's supposed to be some sort of an agreement - or, knowing Morty, an apology. Whatever it is, Morty doesn't seem inclined to support any of his own weight, and so she slowly carries him back to the mouth of the alley, toward the street. As powerful as Karen tries to always be, physical strength isn't her strong suit, and it shows by the time she staggers to the mouth of the alley, supporting Morty as best she can as she raises one more hand to try and wave down a cab. The cabs in Saffron City don't run like they do in other cities; there's no central cab system, and instead cabs are run by individuals who are looking to make a quick buck. They're shady and not all that safe, but in the dead of night there's no one else who'll be willing to take a drunk person home.

_Or,_ Karen thinks to herself as a black car speeds up to parallel park near them, _a drugged guy back to a hotel room._

"Where to?" the cab driver asks, his eyes widening a little as he looks at her in the rearview mirror. Karen lays Morty in first, positioning him on the seat, and then turns her attention to the cab driver.

"The Sun Stone Hotel near the Silph Co. building." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a wad of bills, handing it over the seat to him. "That ought to be enough."

The cab driver takes the bills, examining it a bit, before he turns to look at her. Karen doesn't miss the way his eyes travel up and down her frame, taking in her exposed legs and bare arms. She almost wants to groan. At this point, the routine is truly getting old. "It's enough for the ride, I guess," the cab driver says slowly. "But you could keep the cash if you . . ."

"Oh, look," Karen interrupts him, turning over her shoulder. "Lilith's back." She raises two fingers to her lips and lets out a shrill whistle, ignoring the stares she attracts with the action. Lilith immediately bounds up to the cab, and the cab driver seems to wilt in his seat at the sight of the Houndoom - especially at the sight of blood dripping from the Houndoom's muzzle.

"A . . . Houndoom . . . ?"

"Yes," Karen answers, reaching out one hand to pat Lilith on the head. The blood doesn't bother her. She doesn't know what Lilith did to the men who'd tried to assault Morty, and she will never ask. Though harm befalling them wouldn't bother her, there are some things she prefers not to know, and this is one of them. "She's my best friend, and personal companion. Lilith, you've done a good deed tonight. Return." Lilith obediently returns to the Pokèball that Karen holds up, and it's only then that Karen slides into the back of the cab beside Morty's prone form, shutting the door afterward. "Now, you were saying?"

"I was saying that it's time to get to the Sun Stone Hotel, ma'am," the cab driver says, turning straight in his seat and pulling out of his parallel park. Karen smirks, tucking a strand of silvery hair behind her ear.

"I thought so."

* * *

><p>It doesn't take long to get to the hotel, and with some help from one of the bellboys, Karen manages to get Morty up to her room. When she deposits him on the bed she turns him on his side, hoping that if he throws up that way it'll help keep the vomit out of his throat and lungs. He's been unconscious since the cab ride, and while that worries her a little, she refuses to let it show. A hospital might be wise at this point, but Karen has never been one to ask for help, and she figures that if Morty starts showing signs of a seizure, she can call for a hospital then. Until then, all she can do is wait.<p>

Waiting, of course, means waiting an indefinite amount of hours until Morty wakes up, and sitting in an uncomfortable position in the only chair in the room to keep herself awake. To be honest, Karen isn't even sure why she's being this charitable, as she wouldn't normally, but in the end she decides that it's because she _does _like Morty, even if he can be high-strung at times. On the upside, Karen doesn't have to wait in silence; ever since a half-hour after they arrived at the hotel, Morty's Pokègear began to ring almost incessantly, with little beeps signaling voicemail messages left every time it wasn't answered. From checking the caller ID, Karen could see that it was Eusine doing most of the calling, with Falkner calling every now and again as well. She debated answering, but decided against it; she could wait until Morty woke up and rejoined the land of the living, so at the very least she could assure his two panicked friends that he wasn't dead (and that Eusine didn't need to try and file charges of homicide against her).

Besides, she doesn't know where they were when Morty was being attacked in the alleyway, so as far as she is concerned, they _deserve _to wait.

It isn't until well into the morning that Morty starts to stir, the sun already filtering in through the windows in rays as persistent as barking dogs. Karen had fallen into a half-asleep doze in the chair, her arms wrapped around her legs with her chin on her knees, but when Morty groans and tries to sit up she becomes more alert, watching him as he leans up on his arm. It only takes a moment more for him to begin vomiting, emptying all of the contents of his stomach onto the floor, some of it dribbling onto the floral-print bedspread.

"That is going to be a nightmare for housekeeping," Karen remarks, even as she gets up and walks over to the bed, crawling onto it and moving over to him. "Try sitting up a bit more," she chides gently. "Generally, tossing your cookies while partially lying down doesn't work out so well."

"Ka-Karen?" he chokes, and she feels a bit pleased that he's coherent enough to recognize her this time around. Anything else he might have said is cut off by more vomiting, but although she wrinkles her nose at the smell, she makes no comment on it.

"Just empty it all," she tells him, keeping one hand gently on his shoulder as he eases himself into a more comfortable kneeling position. "There you go."

"Wha-What happened?" he croaks, wiping his mouth on his sleeve once he finally finishes vomiting. Karen sits back, placing her hands in her lip, and scrutinizes him with her head tilted to one side.

"Hm. It makes sense that you wouldn't remember. Most drugs do wipe the memory, after all. Well, drugs of this type, anyway."

"Drugs?" Morty turns to look at her, his dark blond hair a tousled mess and dark rings beneath his eyes. That makes sense as well, Karen decides. Passing out was not the same as sleeping.

"What do you remember from last night, Mortimer?"

"It's Morty," he corrects automatically, and she half-smirks as he continues. "I remember . . . I remember being in Saffron City." His forehead scrunches in concentration, and he frowns at the bedspread. "I remember being with Eusine and Falkner. We . . . We were on our way to Cerulean, to go through Mt. Moon, to get to Pewter and then to Viridian so we could go to Victory Road because I have to take the Gym Leader Certification Exam."

"All right . . ." Karen prompts, waving one hand in a 'carry on' gesture. Morty ignores her.

"Eusine and Falkner wanted to go out. Eusine . . . Eusine just wanted to have fun, and Falkner wanted to prove that he could. I . . . I remember not really wanting to . . . I wanted to go to Cerulean, but Eusine insisted, and Falkner wanted to party, too." Morty chews on his bottom lip as he considers, clearly struggling. "There was . . . There was a bar, and . . . and I think there was a Persian . . ."

"A Persian?" Karen interrupts, blinking. She doesn't remember seeing a Persian, but figures that it's possible that some of those men were trainers without her realizing it. Morty's frown deepens.

"Yes. Or it may have been a Staraptor. Or a Persian-Staraptor hybrid. I . . . It's hard to remember." Karen rolls her eyes, and chalks it up to the drug making him hallucinate. "Anyway, I remember the bar . . . We were drinking, and there was this really awful noise . . . I think Eusine was singing."

"That certainly would be horrifying," Karen agrees, and Morty shakes his head.

"I don't remember anything after that. It's all one big blank." He looks up at her finally, his expression confused and almost a tinge afraid. He looks vulnerable, and in all the years Karen has known him, Morty has never looked vulnerable before. "Karen, what happened?"

"As I said, you were drugged," Karen tells him bluntly. "There were four men in that bar who apparently thought that you were very pretty. They spiked your drink with something - I'm not sure what drug it was, exactly - and attempted to rape you in the alley beside the bar. I got there just as they were removing your pants-" what little color had come back to Morty's face leaves it "-and had Lilith chase them off. I then brought you back here so that you could recover somewhere that _wasn't _a dirty alley."

Morty's still pale, and he's looking back down at his knees almost as if he can't see them at all. "Karen," he asks in a strangled voice. "Di-Did they-"

"Weren't you listening?" she interrupts, turning away from him and sliding off the bed. Perhaps she's being a bit abrupt, but she decides that it's perfectly reasonable considering she hasn't had any sleep. "I said that they _tried_ to rape you, and that when I arrived, they were _removing _your pants. Your virtue is still perfectly intact, Mortimer. There's no need to worry."

Despite her somewhat patronizing tone, Karen hears Morty breathe a sigh of relief that almost immediately turns into a note of panic. Already sensing the reason of his panic before he even voices it, Karen moves over to her bag. "Wait," Morty says. "My Pokèmon. Where are my-"

"Here." Karen pulls his belt out of her bag and turns, tossing the belt over to him. He catches it easily, his fingers moving over each smooth Pokèball, the panic in his face settling into relief as the tension in his shoulders lessens. "I retrieved them as soon as the creeps left. As I told you, there's really no need for you to panic right now." Morty's Pokègear begins ringing as if on cue, and she smirks as she picks it up. "Especially since you have two friends who are doing enough of that for you."

"Oh no," Morty breathes, even as Karen flips open his Pokègear, turning on the speakerphone.

"Yes?"

_". . . You!"_ Eusine's indignant, accusatory shout is not surprising at all to either of the occupants of the room, yet while Morty lets out a wordless groan and puts his head in his hands, Karen merely smirks, leaning back against the small table. _"I should have known! What did you do to him?"_

"And by 'him' you mean . . .?"

_"You know damn well who I mean! You're using his Pokègear! I mean_ Morty_, you-"_

"I haven't done anything to Morty," Karen interrupts, speaking over the disbelieving scoff she hears on the other end of the line. "However, I have to say that it's a pleasure to speak to you as well, Eusine. It is a rather brilliant morning, isn't it?"

_"Don't play games with me,"_ Eusine snarls, and Karen notes that although the usual ire he directs her way is in his voice, there's still a note of panic there, as well. _"Tell me where the hell Morty is, and tell me now!"_

"I'm right here, Eusine," Morty calls, his voice still cracked from the entire ordeal. He crawls across the bed, though he doesn't get off it, and Karen walks over so that he's nearer to the phone.

_"Morty?"_ Eusine calls tentatively after a heartbeat. _"Are you okay? Where are you? What happened?"_

"I'm . . . fine," Morty says, and Karen raises an eyebrow at him. He shakes his head at her. "I'm in Karen's hotel room. Last night I . . . uh . . . I - I just . . . I-"

_"We looked everywhere for you!"_ Eusine interrupts. _"Falkner said that you'd gone to the bathroom, but you had been in there forever, and when we went in to check you weren't there! You weren't at the table, either, but your scarf was-"_ Morty's hands instantly go to his neck, and Karen rolls her eyes at how attached to the scarf he is, _"-and we didn't think you'd leave without it. No one in the bar could tell us where you were, and there were no other clues except for some blood in the alley beside the bar."_

"That was likely from Lilith," Karen says, more for Morty's benefit than Eusine's, as Morty's eyes flashed up to her with a flicker of fear.

_"Lilith? Your bitch of a Houndoom?"_ Eusine demands, and then his voice shoots up another decibel. _"What the HELL did you do, Karen? I swear, if your damn Houndoom so much as_ scratched_ him I'll-!"_

"I already told you that I didn't do anything," Karen retorts, not even bothering to hide her irritation. "The only ones Lilith hurt were some very, _very _bad men."

"Karen's telling the truth, Eusine," Morty adds, and there's the sound of an irritated huff on the other end of the line before Eusine continues.

_"Then what the hell happened, Morty? Like I said, we searched everywhere. We asked everyone we came across if they'd seen you, but no one had. Falkner's dad works with the police, so we went to check in there-"_ Morty groans again and flops back on the bed, but Eusine continues as if he didn't hear, _"-but even though they started searching, they haven't found anything, either. Falkner had his Noctowl searching until it got light out, and his Pidgeotto has been searching ever since. So has my Kadabra. Morty, it's like you just freakin' disappeared! We didn't know what to think, if you just left, or if - if something else had happened. So what_ happened_, Morty? Just - what happened?"_

Eusine sounds so exhausted, concerned, and almost hopeless that Karen almost feels sorry for him. Apparently, something in his voice propels Morty into action, because he sits up and holds out his hand for the phone. Karen hands it over to him and he takes it off speakerphone, holding it up to his ear instead.

"I . . . I can't talk about it right now," Morty says, and speaks over what Karen assumes is an interruption from Eusine. "No, Eusine - no. It's nothing like that. I . . . It's just a lot for me to handle, right now. I don't even know what to think about it myself. Just . . . Something bad happened, and I . . ." Morty closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Look, I'll tell you later, all right? I promise. I _promise_ I'll tell you. But just, for right now . . . For right now just know that I got into trouble - into a _lot _of trouble - but I'm fine now. Karen helped me out." There's a pause, and then Morty rolled his eyes. "No, Eusine, I'm not just saying that because she's right here. She really, honestly, truly helped me out. If it wasn't for her, I . . . Look, just call off the manhunt, okay? The police can back off, and you and Falkner can get some rest. I'm sorry for worrying you. I honestly didn't mean to. Tell Falkner I'm sorry, too, all right? . . . Thanks. I'll call you later so we can meet up again. . . . Okay. Bye." Morty closes his Pokègear and tosses it on the bed beside him, once again falling back onto it. There's a moment of silence before Karen turns back, walking over to the table and picking up her bag.

"Well, I think you're in need of a shower," she says matter-of-factly. "You can use the one we have here, clearly, but you won't have a change of clothes, so I'll go out and pick some up for you. There's toothpaste in the bathroom, by the way, as well as one of those tiny complimentary toothbrushes. Please feel free to use them. After all of that vomit, you need it."

"You don't have to do that," Morty says, sitting up and looking over at her. "Buy me a change of clothes, I mean. Falkner and Eusine probably still have my bag. And-"

"You're not leaving this hotel looking like that," Karen says, turning to level a flat stare at him. "It's bad enough that I'm still wearing my club dress from last night. I wouldn't leave at all if it wasn't an emergency, but it is. If you leave my room looking like you do now, it's going to look like _I _raped you, and I'll be damned if that happens. No, I'm going to go get you some clothes, and you're going to shower and brush your teeth." She pauses, and then adds, "I'm also going to bring back some breakfast. As much as food might not sound appealing right now, you need it."

Karen has always prided herself on the fact that she can get people to listen to her, and Morty proves to be no harder to sway than anyone else. He smiles faintly.

"All right," he agrees, and as she turns back to head out, her hand on the door handle, he adds, "Karen . . . Thanks."

She allows herself a tiny, true smile, and then says - quite honestly: "Don't mention it."


End file.
